Where a Lie Leads
by Aalon
Summary: An alternate take on Rise from Season 4. What if Castle didn't believe Beckett when she told him she didn't remember anything. Multi-Chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_Oh Kate._

He sees it in her eyes. He hears it in her words, even though her words say something else. Her words lie. Her eyes do not.

It's not how he thought they would end up. It's not how he would have written it.

He'd brought flowers. He's known her now for going on four years. Thousands of conversations, thousands of glances studying her mannerisms; the little things she does when she's happy, or sad, or angry. She's not aware of these telltale signs that give her away. None of us are. But he's learned the unspoken nuances of her facial expressions – the cute eye rolls, the raised eyebrow, the small uptick when she doesn't want to smile. And the darkness in her eyes when she's hiding something. How she glances down, the pause in her eyes as she speaks something that's not quite true.

"I heard that you tried to save me."

He sees the downward glance, and his heart stutters for a moment. _What do you mean 'you heard'. You were there. _ He didn't think it could get any worse. She's alive, she's pulled through the surgery, she's sitting up in the hospital bed. She's recovering. She's going to be okay. It should be a celebration. It's anything but.

"They say there are some things better not remembered."

Just a couple of days ago she had said they were done. Now he knows she meant it. And in the most hurtful way possible, she cuts him loose. He knows in his heart that she is lying. He knows she remembers what he said. He knows she remembers him hovering above her, begging her to stay, begging her to fight, and telling her that he loves her.

This is not a woman who blocks things out. This is a woman who holds on to every detail. It's not just her job; it's who she is. Every life experience has been a layer of what they have jokingly referred to as "the Beckett Onion." Those experiences – some beautiful and others horrific – have made the woman. They aren't forgotten blemishes blocked out. They are the foundation, added layer by layer to the work of art he has fallen in love with.

This is a woman who sees the hidden clues, hears the subtle truths, unveils that which is covered up. It is why they have worked so well together, professionally. Her instinct and his imagination. It's been an almost symbiotic partnership, where they feed off each other.

This is a woman who knows every detail available to her about her mother's murder; she's cleaned the vomit from her father's bathroom floor and his coarse face as she nursed him back to sobriety.

Yet she remembers nothing about her shooting? She remembers nothing about his admission of love to her?

No, he doesn't believe her. He knows her better than that. Yeah, being shot is traumatic. But he knows her, and he knows that losing her mother was far more traumatic than any physical attack on her. She remembers Captain Montgomery being killed. She remembers standing at the podium. And that's it?

He doesn't buy it. Then it gets worse.

Then the dismissal.

"Castle, I'm really tired right now."

The words are said with the same darkening of the eyes. He knows this – he's seen this before from her, but never been on the receiving end. Cripes, when did it all fall apart?

"Of course, of course. We'll talk tomorrow"

"You mind if we don't? I just need a little bit of time."

Now he knows for certain. There has always been "until tomorrow", or "see you in the fall" or some other see-you-later they share. But this isn't "see you later".

This is goodbye.

"Sure. Sure. How much time?"

"I'll call you ok . . ."

_No, you won't_, he thinks to himself. Who does she think she is kidding?

There is a war going on inside him now, a war that has exploded on the battlefield in just the few seconds they have spoken. A silent fury is building, fighting the hurt that he knows he can't hide from his face. He feels the tears stinging in his eyes, he feels his arms shaking. He's got to get out of there, and fast. The smile and easy banter he witnessed between her and motorcycle boy as he entered the room have been replaced by a sterile antiseptic being roughly administered deep inside his chest.

There is a war going on inside him now; the knowledge that whoever is responsible for her shooting is still out there, certain to try again. This knowledge fights against his own emotional self-preservation of flight, to get away from the woman he loves who has just lied to him, who has just summarily dismissed him from her presence.

He hates lies. Lies led to a wife cheating on him, leaving him, and leaving their daughter. Lies led to a second wife pretending to care about his daughter. He knows the road these lies lead down. He doesn't know why she is lying. Does it really matter? He knows the cliff this highway leads to. He's fallen off that cliff before. He just didn't think he would even approach that cliff again. Yet here he is, in a freefall, with his stomach in his chest, suffocating.

She's looking down, looking away as he exits the room. She won't even look at him. The last vision he has of her isn't one with a smile, or a frown, or even a tear or laugh. It's the clouded darkness in her eyes – that is her last gift to him. Had he been one second faster, it is him in that bed, after taking a bullet for her. A bullet darn near stopped his heart. And now a lie has broken it. As he walks down the hallway, the only thing holding his heart together is a simmering anger at the betrayal he feels, that he didn't see coming.

She had said "we're done."

He should have believed her. He does now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Where A Lie Leads - Chapter 2**

**AN:** Thank you for all of the reviews and follows. This is my first foray into writing fan-fiction. It's a lot of fun, and made worthwhile by anyone who reads and enjoys.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

His long legs are stiff, and he stretches them out under the small table. The line still goes on forever. He should be overjoyed. It's bittersweet. Heat Rises, his latest entry in the Nikki Heat series, is doing well in sales, and the publicity generated by this signing event is always a good thing.

Even better, his next novel is well under way. If you had told him months ago that he would have found writing inspiration from a clean break with Kate Beckett and the detectives of the 12th Precinct, he would have laughed. As it turns out, the crushing manner in which he was – to his way of thinking – disposed of – has lit an internal anger of inspiration long dormant in Richard Castle. This next book certainly won't be what the fans of the series are expecting, but he has successfully moved on from Derek Storm, he will do the same with Nikki Heat.

It's been three months. Three long months without a word from Beckett. Truth be told, he has no idea where she is. Oh make no mistake, he still loves the woman. Love doesn't die that easily, or it was not love in the first place. The simmering anger he felt months ago boiled over into righteous indignation, and now what's left in the ashes is an ache. It hurts.

He knows this hurt.

He thinks about Meredith walking out his front door, with Alexis tugging his pants, tears on her cheeks, wondering where Mommy is going.

He thinks about Gina, walking out his front door, with Alexis holding his hand, thankful she is finally leaving.

He thinks about Kate, laying in the hospital bed, her eyes downcast as he walks out of her room. Her heart stopped beating in the ambulance. His stopped beating in the hallway outside her room.

Yeah, he knows this hurt.

So does his family.

After leaving the hospital he had gone home that afternoon, poured himself a drink, and simply stared at it. The small glass rolled easily in his hands. For half an hour he sat there, tears falling, thinking of the three women in his life who had each taken a piece of him. He stared at the brown liquid in the glass, thankful that he had not yet poured it down. An inebriated Castle would have faulted each of them – Meredith, Gina, Kate. A sober Castle knew better. The blame lied in the reflection he dimly saw in the large 65-inch television monitor on the wall. He was the one to blame. No one else. He remembered the words the priest at the local parish had shared with him after Gina left.

"Rick, You cannot complain about those things that you allow."

Those words were fresh in his head when he exploded, hurling the glass of bourbon across the room into the television screen, just as Martha and Alexis walked through the front door of the loft. A completely frightened Alexis fell backwards, into her grandmother. She had never seen her dad like this. Neither had Martha. There was no joke, no innuendo, no smirk to play it off. When Castle turned and saw his daughter, tears staining her face, with Martha's arms holding her up – then his descent that day was complete. His baby girl seeing him raw and exposed was more than he could handle. He ran to her, fell to his knees, apologizing.

"I'm so sorry, pumpkin. I'm so sorry."

"Dad…" The young girl, hands strewn through her red hair sobbed.

"I'm so sorry Alexis. I have no excuse."

It had been a long night, that evening. It was a very vulnerable Castle who opened up to his mother and daughter that night. He confirmed what they both already knew – that he was head over heels in love with Kate Beckett. Then he quickly shattered their dream by recounting the conversation with Beckett in the hospital that afternoon. A young, high-school redhead grew up considerably that night, while a well-experienced mother grew a little older. All had agreed that enough was enough – it was time for them – not just him – but all of them to move on. They all loved Beckett. But the pain of status quo was now far too much, costing far too big a price. That next morning, they found themselves on the road to the beach retreat in the Hamptons. They had gone to the retreat to do just that – retreat. Heal. Make changes – one small, tearful step at a time; one loud, angry step at a time.

_You cannot complain about those things that you allow._

So here he sits at the book signing, and these are the thoughts, these are the memories that all come driving back into his head, with the force of a large wave on the beach, when he hears her voice, and looks up to see her face.

"Kate. Make it out to Kate."

. . . . .

Her legs are stiff, and she bends over, trying to stretch her thigh muscles and relieve the tension in her back. The line still goes on forever. It's bittersweet. She knows that Heat Rises, his latest entry in the Nikki Heat series, is doing well in sales. She knew to expect to stand in line for a while in order to see him. She has no idea what will come next.

She could have called him. She could have texted him. Either would have been infinitely easier now than standing here, both anticipating and dreading how their first conversation in three months would go. She has to admit that she is surprised that he never called her; never texted her.

_Well, you told him not to call. Stupid. Stupid._

She buries those thoughts. He's never listened to her before. Never. He's never stayed in the car, he's never stayed back, he's never stayed out of it. Why in God's name did he pick now, when she makes the biggest mistake of her life, to fall in line and listen to her.

Actually, that's the second biggest mistake of her life. The bigger mistake was lying to him. Telling him she didn't remember. The man expressed his love for her, and she bolted at the first opportunity.

The two months she had spent at the cabin had been harsh, yet cathargic. Her dad had come up for a couple of weeks, and their conversations had been tearful, complete – and long overdue. For years, her dad had not really been 'dad' – he'd been the man she had helped pull out of the gutter, the man she had helped pull back into a sober existence. And she'd rewarded this man the way she rewards everyone – with a wall, keeping him at arm's distance, always determining how close she would allow him – or anyone else – to get.

Those couple of weeks at the cabin had changed that. A man who watches his daughter get shot in the heart, who sits in a waiting room wondering if he is shortly going to be praying with gratitude or screaming in agony - that man tends to find himself. It was that man who visited her at the cabin. It was that man who worked through the physical therapy with her at the cabin. It was that man who wiped her tears with the compassion of his heart, then gave her new tears with conviction of his words. He'd lost his wife. He would not lose his daughter.

She had broken up Josh before leaving the city for the cabin. She knew it was the right thing to do. She didn't love him. He was comfortable. Shoes are comfortable. People are not. Perhaps a bullet in the heart was giving her a different world view, insight into things she had not considered previously. She thought she'd accomplished something. Her dad thought otherwise.

She remembers telling him that she'd broken up with Josh. She told him she didn't love Josh, that she felt she could love Richard Castle but she just wasn't ready yet – she thought her dad would be proud, would understand. Perhaps he did; but his next words had cut deep and remained fixed inside her.

"Geesh Katie . . . Sorenson, Demming, now Josh. Three years, three pretty decent men. For someone who claims to be a 'one-and-done woman', you have left quite a litter scattered behind you."

It had been harsh, but it had been true – and just what she needed. She'd become a construction expert, building these walls around her – and then surrounding herself with people who wouldn't challenge those walls, who supported those walls, who reinforced those walls every time they backed off, every time they didn't push back.

Fortunately – or unfortunately – her dad was not yet finished. He knew she had just come through heart surgery – but he was going to have to open her heart yet again in order to completely heal her, and get his daughter back.

"Three years, three relationships – and now you have your eyes on a fourth, yet you start this one out with a lie? How do you expect to recover from this Katie. A lie never lives to be old – you **know** this."

Yeah, there had been plenty of tears that night – tears of anger because he dared breach her walls, and tears of utter sadness to know that the walls she had constructed so carefully actually weren't made of brick. They were made of glass – and those who knew her could see right through these glass walls. Brick walls crumble. It's a slow process. Glass walls shatter. It's instantaneous.

"I just want what you and mom had, dad. I've never had that. Is that so wrong?"

His reply to her is why she cut her time away short. His reply to her is why she is standing in line now. His reply to her is why she almost called Castle, almost texted him, but decided either would be the cowardly way out. No, to do this the right way, she had to do it in person. All because of his reply.

"No, Katie – there is nothing wrong with that. But remember this – if you want something that you have never had, you have to do something that you've never done."

Those are the words – received weeks ago from a father who had re-found himself – that are front and center in her head as the young, smiling blonde in line in front of her steps away with a signed copy of Heat Rises folded into her chest. Those are the words she feels swimming in her head as she steps forward, and looks down at the utterly handsome but distant writer sitting in front of her at the table.

"Kate", she says simply. "Make it out to Kate."


	3. Chapter 3

**Where a Lie Leads - Chapter 3**

**AN:** Once again, thank you for all of the reviews and follows.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

"Hello Detective."

"Hey Castle."

The greetings sound familiar. The tones are anything but familiar. They both notice this right away.

He sees her deep green eyes, but he notices the lively sparkle is missing. Something has replaced it – something that he can't quite place. He quickly puts this line of thinking out of his mind. He cannot go there again.

She sees his blue eyes, but she notices that the sizzle, the dance that was always there – it's gone. The nine year old boy on a sugar rush – he is gone. She is immediately saddened. She feels whatever hope, whatever excitement that she had, anticipating this face-to-face, is rapidly slipping away.

The few seconds ticking by seem like minutes. The pause takes forever in both of their minds. Yeah, this is anything but familiar. They are on uncertain ground now, with neither comfortable with where to go next. Finally, Castle interrupts the silence by reaching his hand out for the book she holds in her hands. She extends the book to him, and turns away as he lowers his eyes and writes something for her. For a moment, her excitement struggles to crawl back to the surface. She knows he is a writer. Perhaps he has no voice to express his thoughts, but she is confident that the words from his pen will ring true for her. She didn't call or text, but she's taken this first step – a big step in her mind – to come to him. She hopes that this quick encounter becomes a step forward, toward normalizing their relationship.

No, not normalizing. She quickly realizes that a return to 'normal', a return to what they had is far from what she wants. That's not what she broke up with Josh for, and it's not what he deserves. Her thoughts are interrupted by his voice, speaking to her from the chair below.

"Goodbye, Detective. It was good to see you again."

He is handing the book back to her. Without another glance, he looks beyond her to the middle-aged Hispanic woman standing behind her, a smile on her face, eager to step forward for a few words with the outgoing author.

Feeling dismissed, Kate takes the book and gives Castle a last look. He's not noticing her. He has moved on to the next 'fan' in line. Her heart sinks as she steps away. She doesn't hear or see anything for those first few steps. She gets to the door leading out of the store, and walks through as a young man opens the door for her, and steps in line with his girlfriend.

Leaning against the outside wall, she ignores the sun in her eyes forcing her to squint. She takes a deep breath and offers a silent "please" upwards. She opens the book cover and stares at the words written by the man who has no idea of her continually growing love. The words don't leap off the page this time. The words sit there, and offer a slow rumble in her chest.

_From ordinary to extraordinary – I remember everything, always. Rick._

Her head lowers toward her chest, as she stands leaning against the wall. She drops her sunglasses off the top of her head in place on her face. The tears are coming quickly now. The words from his pen are no less dull than the surgeon's knife. The meaning, though veiled, could not be any clearer to he**r**. He has no idea that she lied to him – or so she thinks. He just knows that she doesn't remember – although she does.

And then it hits finally hits home for her exactly what it is that – in his mind, by her own admission – she doesn't remember.

She doesn't remember him diving in front of her – a mere fraction too late – ready to sacrifice himself for her without a second thought.

She doesn't remember him cradling her head, her body, praying to God that she doesn't leave him.

She doesn't remember him finally – finally – expressing the deep love for her that she always knew – hell, they all knew – he carried for her.

It is finally hitting her – the lightning rod moment of destiny that should have cemented their fairy tale – and she told him that the moment never happened. She doesn't remember. She had come to this book event to correct her mistake, to admit that she lied. She had come to this book event hoping for a chance to explain why she lied. But with a simple stroke of the pen and a glance beyond her, he had blown her off.

He was telling her that no matter what – from ordinary to extraordinary – he remembered every detail, every moment, every touch, every argument, every smile. No matter what, the full package was all he had ever wanted. Always.

She stands there, trying to catch her breath. She's hurt and she's getting angry. But what did she expect? She'd come all this way, knowing it wasn't going to be easy. The words of her dad come back to her.

_If you want something that you have never had, you have to do something that you've never done._

How badly does she want this? How badly does she want him? Is she willing – is she ready – to break the mold, to crack through her self-constructed walls for him? Because clearly, he has put the chisel down. He's done striking the wall. His Don Quixote role is squarely behind him – and she knows it.

Then – in a moment of crystal clarity – her knees buckle and a slow sob crashes past her lips. She realizes now exactly how difficult this journey for her is going to be. She realizes he has no right – absolutely no right to be angry with her simply because she can't remember anything. These things happen in moments of trauma. He's a writer, for crying out loud, he gets this! What right does he have to be angry with her, unless . . .

_He didn't believe me._

_He doesn't believe me._

_He knows I lied._

_But how_, she wonders. The answer is there for her as quickly as the question forms in her head.

_Because he knows me. He's followed me around for three years, he's stared at me, he's watched me. He knows me._

_Dear God, He knows I lied to him._

Another bullet has ripped into her chest – at least that is what it feels like. Three months have passed. Three long months. So much can happen in three months. One can only stay angry for so long before you erect walls to protect oneself. She's a master at this, and now she recognizes it in Castle. He's pulling a Beckett, erecting walls for safety. Walls to keep her out.

She knew this was a difficult path but now it has just become infinitely more difficult. The utter exasperation in her chest seems ready to explode. She can't let another day, much less weeks or months, go by without fixing this. Without at least trying.

So she waits. Occasionally she wipes a tear away, as she rehearses in her head what she needs to say, what words he needs to hear – immediately – to stop this train headed away from her. The line has dwindled down and she knows he should be coming through the door soon.

_You can do this, Kate. You want to do this. _

Her thoughts are interrupted by the door swinging open and the still ruggedly-handsome face of Richard Castle walks through. His eyes spot her and for a brief second, he considers a greeting. But his heart just isn't into this at this time. It's been a good day, a positive step forward, and he can't afford to get sucked back into the beautiful, hypnotic maelstrom that is Kate Beckett. And so he turns and begins walking away.

"Castle…"

He hears her call his name. There's a saddening, sickening cry in her voice with just that one word. Damn, he's got to move past this.

_C'mon, one foot in front of the other, Rick. Move!_

But it's too late. Her next words stop him in his tracks.

"Castle – I remember everything, too."


	4. Chapter 4

**Where a Lie Leads - Chapter 4**

**AN:** Once again, thank you for all of the reviews and follows. This is quite a community. Know that I enjoy so many of the stories I read here.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

"Castle – I remember everything, too."

Of all the things she could say, of all the words she could put together in a coherent sentence – this was the one thing he totally does not expect.

This is out of character – way out of character for Beckett. Beckett doesn't attack emotional issues head-on. She draws them out, for months and years. She's no closer to closure with her mother's murder today than a decade ago. She's no closer to an honest and open relationship with him than she was three years ago. There are so many things that would not have surprised him to hear come from her lips.

"_Castle, please, you don't understand."_

"_Castle, I just need a little more time."_

"_Castle, please, I need you to listen to me."_

Any of those statements would have been in-line with the Kate Beckett he knows. And any of those statements would have fueled his feet to keep walking, faster, putting as much distance between him and the eventual pain that he knows comes with Beckett. But this?

_I remember everything, too._

This? No, this is unexpected. Never in his wildest and most fanciful dreams did he ever see Beckett coming clean with him. His plan – or what in his mind constituted a plan – was to never see Kate Beckett again. The problem with that was that he never accounted for that plan going awry. He never expected her to show up at a book signing. Why would she? She's got her doctor boyfriend and now she's the hero cop who survived a sniper's bullet. There was no reason for their paths to cross again. They traveled in distinctly different circles and it was only a chance encounter three years ago that intersected their journeys.

No, this is unexpected. Seeing her and now having her open up, and admit what she had done?

He stares at her for a moment. She is wondering what he is thinking. She no longer can read his eyes. She has no idea what is going on inside that hurting and imaginative mind of his. Similarly, he looks in her eyes, and he sees pain, but now with all that has happened, he no longer trusts what he is seeing. The wound of deception still runs deep.

He makes his mind up in a few seconds, and with a few quick strides is upon her, grabbing her hand and pulling her across the street to the city park there. She sits on one swing, he sits on one next to her. A minute passes. Neither says a word. Finally, Castle stands up and starts pacing. He walks back and forth, in front of her swing, occasionally glancing at her. She stares at him, her eyes never leaving his pacing form. His thoughts are racing circles in his head, no caution flag in sight. He wasn't ready for this. He is searching for the right words. She bails him out.

"How did you know?"

She asks the question so softly, he almost doesn't hear it. His first thought is to think that was such a dumb question. He relaxes a bit, though, when he realizes that he's dragged her over to the park, and is pacing to and fro, and he's got nothing. No words have come from his mouth. Thankfully, she has said something, anything, to start the discussion.

"How did you know I lied to you?" she asks again.

He stares at her, fighting the tears that are stinging his eyes; the tears he swore to himself that he no longer had for this beautiful, damaged woman sitting in front of him. Upon seeing the glistening in his eyes, tears streak down her cheeks, with silent sobs snuffed inside her throat.

"Because you are the most maddeningly extraordinary person I know. Your heart is damaged and walled off, but your brain is brilliant, cunning and ruthless when it has to be. Your heart might not have been able to take being shot, but your brain, your mind – it would never give up like that."

He sees her staring at him through tears, and so he continues now – the words gushing forward, totally unfiltered.

"You lived through your mom's murder, and remembered it all. You lived through your dad's alcoholism, and remembered it all. You were blown up in your apartment, for crying out loud, and you remembered every minute of it. You were kept in the dark by the mentor you loved and respected. He sacrifices himself for you, and you remembered every minute of it. And now you get shot – and that – _that_ is what finally pushes your brain into retreat mode? No, I didn't buy it. Not for one damn minute, Beckett. But I have a question for you."

She knew it would come, and she has been waiting for it. Her heart skips yet another beat as she realizes that even now, she doesn't really have a good answer for it.

"Why, Kate? Why?"

She hears her name. Her first name. Not "Detective" or "Beckett". He's called her Kate. She begins to break – but her mind – her brilliant mind as he called it – takes over from her heart. She can't trust her heart to find the right words right now. Her heart will come up with excuses. He doesn't need to hear excuses right now. He needs to hear truth – so she pushes the emotional, plausible explanations aside, and just talks turkey with him.

"Does it matter why, Rick? I screwed up. That's the bottom line. I screwed up and now I am trying desperately to fix it. When I am cornered, I build walls. It's what I do, and I'm good at it – really, really good at it. I have years, Rick, years of experience building these walls. And once they go up, I will do anything – _anything_ to protect these walls that protect me. I shut people out to protect these walls. I shut people down to protect these walls."

She hesitates for a second . . .

"I lie to people I love to protect these walls. I'm damaged goods, Castle."

He hears the word "love". It's the word he has wanted to hear from her for quite a while now. But he can't be sure if – even now in the midst of what appears to be an honest explosion from her – if it really isn't the walls talking yet again. But he has to know what she means.

"How did I corner you? Why build a wall with me?

"Rick, I was lying in a hospital bed. I'd just been shot in the heart. My boyfriend has performed surgery on me, but he's never told me he loves me. You have just jumped to save me from a bullet, and you are the one who tells me you love me. I wake up and he is there one minute, then you are there the next minute. And I've just been shot, Rick. Captain Montgomery is dead, I should be dead, you _could _have been dead. C'mon, Castle, give me this much. That's a hell of a day to go through."

As much as he hates to admit it, he has to give her that much. That_ is_ a lot to handle in one day.

"I thought it would just be a couple of days. That's all I needed, Castle. Just a couple of days. But I was wrong. One day turned into two days, and two days turned into a week. Before I knew it, a couple of weeks had passed and I get discharged and then I just had to get away. I see Josh every day, I see Lanie every day, I see Javi and Ryan every day. But you're gone. I know, I know, I pushed you away. I wanted to reach out to you, but now it's been two weeks. It's been too long. It's too late. So I had to get away."

He isn't saying anything, but he isn't walking away either. So she continues.

"So I broke it off with Josh. I had a couple of months of disability available to me, and I wanted to call you and ask you to come with me, but it's been weeks now. How do I tell you _'Hey Castle, I lied about remembering anything, but can you drop everything and come go away for a couple of months with me because I need you now?'"_

"I wanted to come clean with you, Castle, but I waited too long. And every minute, every hour, every day that passed by added one more damn layer of bricks that I couldn't climb over. Every day that passed by was one more wall too thick for me to break through and tell you the truth."

He sits down beside her, and for a moment, neither says a word. Feet dangling on the ground off the swings, they let their normal motion propel them quietly, softly. The entire time, he stares deeply into her eyes, and she stares back, hoping he will see what he needs to see. Finally, he looks wistfully back to the book store across the street.

"I understand," he says.

She allows herself her first small smile in days. It's not much, yet it is everything. It's only a small step, but it's enough for now.

"So, what now," he says, looking at her nervously.

"Can I ask you a question," she asks.

"Sure."

"It's really not fair of me to ask."

"Yes, I still love you, Kate."

Her eyes mist. She wants to smile, but it won't come. She wants to break out it laughter, celebrating, but neither does that come. Because she is waiting for the other shoe – that she knows is coming – to drop.

"But you don't trust me."

It's not a question. And his silence is all the answer she needs. She's really blown it. Love is one thing, but trust is _everything_. But she wants this. She wants him. She wants him badly. And she is finally committed to doing new things.

"I love you, Rick. And I trust you. That can be enough for now."

"You think so?"

"It will have to be. I love you Rick, but I want to love you more. These walls are killing me, and I can't tear them down on my own. I have tried, and tried and tried. For over ten years, and they just get bigger and taller and thicker. I can't love you the way I want, the way you deserve to be loved with these walls. I need your help."

Before he can answer, his phone rings. He doesn't recognize the number. He really doesn't want to answer, but he has a daughter at school and a mother off on Broadway somewhere – it could be anyone calling on their behalf. He picks it up on the third ring.

"Mr. Castle – my name is Mr. Smith. I'm an associate of Roy Montgomery. We need to talk."

**AN:** One more chapter – I think – and we will be finished here. Thank you so much to all of you for reading and sharing your thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Where a Lie Leads - Chapter 5**

**AN:** A final thanks to all of you for all of the reviews and follows. I'm glad many of you have enjoyed this story. Here is the final chapter – I like to write (and resolve) things fairly quickly. Ok, blah, blah, blah, on to the story.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

Castle is on the phone and he is not saying much. It appears to be a very one-sided conversation. Kate knows this can't be good. The Castle she knows is garrulous and joyful. This quiet Castle is somewhat disarming. He isn't giving anything away. She has long since got off the swing and been pacing in the grass, throwing glances at Castle as he sits on the swing, listening to a voice on the other end of this strange phone call. But he glances at her every so often, and there is something in his eyes she is not used to seeing.

Terror.

They have been through so much together these last three years; gun shots, explosions, drug deals, Russian mobsters – and that's just been the easy stuff. They've done the _'hey-I-think-you're-kinda-cute-dance_ worse than freshmen in high school. Through it all, she has seen much in those blue eyes. She has seen anger, sadness, joy, surprise, frustration, love. Her favorite, of course, is love. And while they have been in some frightening situations, while she has seen Richard Castle afraid, she has never seen the pure fear in his eyes that she sees right now.

Suddenly, she hears him speaking. She can't make out much of what he is saying. He's quiet again, and then she hears him more clearly.

"I understand. Thank you. No, no, I understand."

He hangs up the call. He stands up but doesn't walk toward her. Instead, he holds on to the chain link holding one of the swings up. He has a far-away look.

"Well?" she asks.

For another few seconds he says nothing. Then, grabbing her hand yet again, he simply says "We have to go."

She pulls her hand free, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait a minute, Castle. We're not going anywhere until you tell me what's up. And we're not finished talking anyway – we're finally making some progress with . . . with us."

Undeterred, he simply grabs her hand, yet again, and starts walking back across the street to hail a taxi in front of the book store.

"Kate, you said you trust me. You said that your love and your trust could carry us. Well, it starts now. You have to do exactly what you said you could do – and that's trust me. I know we have a lot to talk about. A lot, Kate. But not now."

With that, he literally drags her to the cab that has pulled over, opening the door.

"Get in."

She stares at him for a moment, then quickly slides into the passenger's seat and scoots over behind the driver. Castle hops in. Before she can say another word, the car is in motion with instructions to head to the Old Haunt bar, and Castle is back on the phone.

"Espo. How are you, my man?"

"Castle? Castle!" He leans across the desk to Ryan. "Yo bro, a voice from the past." Turning his attention back to Castle, he continues.

"What's up, Castle. Where'd you disappear off to?"

"No time for that, my friend," Castle replies. "Beckett and I are 10 minutes away. I need you and Ryan to meet us at the Old Haunt. No questions, Espo. I will explain everything shortly. But it's important, okay? And stop saying my name – trust me."

"Okay, Okay. We'll be there. Love the cloak and dagger stuff."

Castle hangs up, telling the cabbie to speed it up. Kate looks at him with a hundred questions screaming at her. He is clearly flustered, but at the same time, in complete control. She opens her mouth to ask a question, but – without even glancing at her – Castle shuts her down.

"Not now, Kate. Just trust me."

The rest of the cab ride is in silence. Kate occasionally glances his way, while Castle simply sits back, the thumb and forefinger on his right hand massaging the bridge of his nose. He doesn't look at her, doesn't glance at her. She is relieved when they pull in front of the old bar now owned by Castle. They get out of the cab and enter the bar. Castle stops at the bar counter, giving Melissa a tight hug. Castle hired the 26 year old as a favor to a friend after buying the establishment last year. Beckett waves hello to her, as she and Castle head to the booth in the back of the establishment typically reserved for three specific police officers from the 12th Precinct.

Minutes later, Esposito and Ryan enter the bar and head to the back, nodding at Melissa behind the bar counter.

Ryan slides in next to Castle while Esposito sits next to Beckett.

"My man," Ryan exclaims, putting his arm around Castle. Castle smiles – a genuine smile, one of the few this day – and fist bumps Esposito across the booth.

"It's good to see you, my friends. It's been too long."

"Too long – yeah, it's been three months, Castle", says Esposito. "What gives? "

Both detectives want to ask exactly how – and why – Castle and Beckett are together. It's common knowledge that she told him she "needed time" in the hospital, and just as common knowledge that Castle took that as an opportunity to divorce himself from the 12th Precinct. Before they can ask, however, Castle speaks up.

"I'm really glad to see you guys, and there will be a lot of time for us to catch up. But right now, I'm afraid there are far more important things to talk about."

By now, Beckett, who has mostly been quiet, speaks up.

"Okay, Castle, you dragged me away from an important conversation." She stops herself, giving a quick _don't-even-ask_ glare at both Esposito and Ryan, who wisely choose not to push their curiosity. "What can be so important? And who were you on the phone with?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself", Castle says, as they all look up. An older gentleman, smartly dressed in a suit and overcoat, nods to each of them.

"Mr. Smith, I presume," says Castle.

"Mr. Castle. When I suggested a meeting place where we would not be bothered, I thought you understood that a public place – such as this bar with your friends – would not fit that description."

"There is no safer place I know, Mr. Smith", Castle replies, and invites Mr. Smith to take a seat. "No one outside of the four of us sit in this booth. We have all the privacy we need. And these people need to hear what you have to say."

After making introductions, Castle turns the floor over to Mr. Smith.

"Go ahead, Mr. Smith. We're all ears", says Castle.

"I will get right to the point," Smith says, speaking softly. "I don't want to sound melodramatic, but I strongly suggest you pay close attention to everything I am about to say, because we may not have a second chance to have this conversation."

That certainly catches everyone's attention. Mr. Smith then continues:

"As I said to Mr. Castle, I am . . . I was a friend of Captain Roy Montgomery. How Roy and I came to be friends is not important right now. What _is_ important is that a few months ago, right before he was murdered, Roy sent me files - files that can hurt some very powerful people. The agreement was these files would never see the light of day as long as Detective Beckett remains alive."

The booth explodes with exclamations of surprise from Esposito, Ryan and Beckett. Castle, however, is unmoved. He has heard this part on the telephone already. Mr. Smith continues again:

"Unfortunately, these files got to me too late to prevent the attempt on your life, Detective Beckett." He says this looking at Beckett. He says this with no malice and no compassion. His tone remains purely business.

"However, now that they know these files exist – because I have shared their existence with certain people - they have called off any future hits on you, Detective Beckett. And that extends to each one of you as well."

It is almost comical how quickly four sets of eyebrows rise on the three detectives and Castle. Now the conversation turns to new territory even for Castle. This he has not heard yet from his earlier phone call with Mr. Smith.

"I need you to understand the rules. They are very simple. Detective Beckett, you stay clear of this case. Your mother is dead. I won't insult you by insinuating that I understand how you might feel. But know this – each of you - know this:"

He pauses as he looks each one of them in the eyes before continuing:

"She cannot go near this case. If she does, they will kill her. They will kill her, and they won't stop there. Hell, for all I know, they may not _start_ there. They may start with you, Detective Esposito. Or you, Detective Ryan. "

Neither detective responds. Their only answer is silence, and a clenching of their fists on the table.

"They may start with your father, Detective Beckett. They may start with you, Mr. Castle."

Then he drops the bomb.

"Mr. Castle, they may start with your daughter. They may go after your mother first. The point is – they will kill Detective Beckett, and they won't stop there. They will kill everyone she cares about, if she doesn't stop. You know they will do this. These people aren't surgeons. They subscribe to the scorched earth policy."

He points to Beckett, and then looks directly at Castle.

"They will kill her, they will kill her friends, they will kill you and your family, and not even your illustrious father will be able to stop them, Mr. Castle.

"My father ?! What do you know about my father ?" Castle cannot contain the surprise and anger rising in him. _He _doesn't even know his father. What in the world is Smith talking about! But before Castle can even process this, Smith sucks all of the air out of the room when he drops the second bomb.

"Shut up, Mr Castle. You need to listen to me. You are a writer. You're a smart man. You have a great imagination. You know how deep this rabbit hole can go. Surely you don't believe that Scott Dunn was an isolated, deranged serial killer after Nikki Heat. Surely you don't believe that case was nice and neatly wrapped up by you and your FBI friends last year. Surely you are not that naïve! Scott Dunn was a hired contract killer who loved playing games, who loved showmanship. For his own amusement, he disguised his contract to kill Detective Beckett under the guise of a psychopath obsessed with a fictional character based upon our detective here."

Beckett leans forward on the booth table, her hands desperately looking for solace in the long locks of hair, until she simply puts her hands on the table and her head back against the booth's headrest. She now understands the look of fear, the look of pure terror that she saw in Castle's eyes at the park while he listened to Smith talk. She sees that same look in the eyes of her two detectives. These men are brothers to her. They are family. She is only now starting to understand the full cost of her quest for vengeance.

Suddenly, she snaps back to the present, as she hears Smith finish:

"It will never stop - Mr. Castle, gentlemen - unless she stops. If she stops, then everyone continues on, business as usual. If she continues digging, they will find out – and they will come after her – and each of you – again."

They sit in stunned silence for the next few seconds. Mr. Smith stands up, ready to take his leave.

"I want all of you to know that I am a friend. Roy Montgomery was a man that I am forever indebted to, even beyond the grave. I know the news I have shared is far from cause for celebration. But now, at least you fully understand the rules of engagement. "

Looking at Castle, he ends the conversation. "I truly hope this is the last time we meet. Rest assured, your enemy does not know me. If they did, they would never have allowed this conversation to occur. And if something happens to me, then the files I have will reach the appropriate people."

With that, he leaves. The four of them are left to their own thoughts for the next few minutes. Castle is the first to speak. With his customary smirk, he breaks the tension in the booth in the way that – apparently – only Rick Castle can. He looks at Kate, who is simmering with anger, tears ready to boil over, quickly reaches to hold her by the cheeks, and plants a soft, slow kiss on her. This is the absolute last thing she has expected, but her body responds instantly. Before she can enjoy the moment, he has pulled away.

"I have wanted to do that for a long, long time, Detective."

Nervous laughter erupts at the table, but quickly dies down. Castle pats Ryan on the back, asking him to get up and let Castle out of the booth. They all stand.

"Everyone, follow me," Castle says, moving toward the restrooms in the back next to their booth, but stopping at the storage closet. Opening the door to the storage closet, he hits a board, revealing a panel. Sliding the panel up, he opens a second door, with stairs descending downward.

"Ok, cool, bro" smiles Esposito. "I always knew these old bars had little hidden areas."

"This one actually has two basements", smiles Castle. "No one in this bar knows about this second one – not even Melissa. The only other person who knows was Donny, and he – as you know – isn't here to tell anyone about it. It served its' purpose a long time ago when this establishment was a brothel and not a bar."

Descending down the stairs, they find themselves in a basement. It should be colder, but somehow Castle has managed to bring heat, air conditioning and plumbing to the basement.

"Did all this myself," he smiles proudly. "After Beckett's apartment was blown to smithereens, I knew we might need a safe-haven someday. Too many people know about my place in the Hamptons, and the loft isn't exactly unknown territory either."

Everyone is a bit nervous as they sit in comfortable, plush chairs at a large table in the basement of the Old Haunt. They are nervous because they are all now in new territory. Castle, Esposito, Ryan – each of them has known about Kate Beckett's quest for justice for her mother's murder. Each of them has always known that helping her crack this case had risks for each of them. But it crystalized in that moment when they realized – when they were told, point-blank – that they now were each intended targets in the firing line of their enemy. And not only them, but the people they love.

Javier Esposito sits, thinking about Lanie, the beautiful medical examiner with whom he has done the lazy dance almost as long as Castle and Beckett have avoided theirs. He cannot lose her.

Kevin Ryan sits, thinking about his fiancée, Jenny. They are planning their wedding, planning their family. He cannot lose her.

Kate Beckett sits, thinking about her father, and how he could end up joining her mother as a victim – and this time it would be her fault. She thinks about her two 'brothers' sitting with her at this table, and how she cannot allow them or their loved ones to be harmed.

And she thinks about Castle, the man she loves, the man she has avoided loving for the past few years. She cannot lose him, or any of them.

And Rick Castle? He thinks of Alexis. He loves his mother, he is deeply in love with Kate Beckett, and he loves these two men at the table as younger brothers he never had. But his thoughts keep coming back to Alexis. Each of them have chosen the road they are on. Alexis has not.

Castle interrupts all of their thoughts with thoughts of his own.

"I met Mr. Smith on the phone this afternoon – less than two hours ago." He shakes his head as he recognizes just how much life can change in an hour or two. He walks over the wall where he has a private stash of scotch. He grabs the bottle, and reaches to grab four glasses. Before he can, he realizes Beckett is at his side. He smiles at her, and she smiles back, grabbing the glasses for him. He instead grabs a bucket of ice from the wall container.

"Seems like you have everything you need down here, Castle", she whispers.

"Everything, but not everyone. Until now."

They bring the scotch, ice and glasses to the table, and the four of them set themselves up with a drink. Then Castle continues:

"As I said, I met Mr. Smith this afternoon, on the phone. Some of what he shared with all of us, he had shared with me on that phone call. I knew then that I had to bring all of you into this." He looks at Kate, hoping she can see the apology in his eyes for what he is about to say.

"I had to bring them into it, Kate, because I love you. I love you deeply. You've known this, and we will find the time to continue our conversation. But you asked me if I trusted you. I don't. I want to, Kate, please believe me. I trust you with my life. But I don't trust you with yours, and I certainly don't trust you or anyone else with the life of my baby girl."

Kate nods in understanding. She doesn't like what she's hearing, but she cannot question the authenticity – or sincerity – of his words. Then he continues:

"I heard through the grapevine that your new captain comes from Internal Affairs. So I don't trust her. I know, that's not fair. But neither is what we have just sat through for the last hour. Anyway, Mr. Smith didn't reach out to a cop. He reached out to me. So I don't know who is dirty and who is clean."

Before any of the detectives can say anything, he reminds them of John Raglan's murder earlier that year, right after New Year's, where the mobster Pulgatti told them that "there's nothing more dangerous out there than a killer with a badge."

"We don't know who we can trust. We don't know who we are up against. But I – for one – am not going to just sit on my hands and hope and pray they keep this so-called agreement with Mr. Smith. I am not going to hope and pray that their integrity causes them to stay away from us. Not when the lives of my friends, my daughter, my mother, and the woman I love are on the line."

They all nod in agreement, and understanding. He lifts his glass, in a toast, grabbing Beckett's hand. She gives his hand a squeeze, and then places a quick kiss on the top of his hand.

Javier Esposito is the first to speak. "We can't sit back. The best defense is a good offense."

Kevin Ryan adds, "But we have to have a plan. We've got to play the long game here."

Kate Beckett smiles at her friends, with tears glistening in her eyes. "I can't ask you guys to do this."

Esposito interrupts her. "This is no longer just your fight Beckett. You know we have always had your back, but the stakes just got raised a wee bit."

After a few seconds of silence, Rick Castle finally speaks up. "Like I said, I knew this old room would come in handy someday. Kevin's right, we need a plan."

They clink four glasses in a toast. Then Castle says:

"So, here is what we are going to do . . ."

**AN:** Thanks for spending time with me. I hope you enjoyed this story. I think that Marlowe has done a marvelous job with the entire Castle mythos. I won't be so presumptuous to degrade any of his stories, but of all the storylines that I watched, Rise (S4:1) never sat well with me. While I always understood (just a little) why Beckett may have lied (so in character for her), I never accepted that an intelligent, intuitive man who followed her around for three solid years wouldn't see through such an important lie. To me, a guy who has had the history he had with his two ex-wives would have a stronger radar for deceptions. Then Castle withholds information from Kate regarding his conversations with Mr. Smith – and now before you know it, the entire season is predicated on two strong lies and deceptions each has made. I just don't know how (in real life, Hollywood or fan-fiction) any relationship really recovers from that. Regardless, I appreciate all of you allowing me to 'wander' and share an alternate take, wondering how things could have progressed differently had everyone been brought into the loop after Castle's phone call with Mr. Smith.


End file.
